Saved
by Lolieta19
Summary: A descriptive version of the Titanic on paper, some parts may be the same and some will be changed. Rose and Jack embark on their whirlwind romance and deal with the struggles and pressure of their social classes.
1. Chapter 1

Rose felt her insides tearing at her to run as she boarded the 'Ship of Dreams.' She didn't wish to be here, any more than she wished to be anywhere else as a matter of fact. The title Dewitt Bukater had ensured that she'd had a luxurious, well-educated life, and yet in her heart of hearts she knew that it just hadn't been enough. It hadn't been what she'd wanted. Rose was a fiery creature, and every single day she spent with the likes of her mother and _Cal_, that fire grew evermore dimmer.

"Rose, what _are _you looking so melancholy about? Look at this ship! The greatest by far on Earth; and our staying rooms are most certainly decked out for royalty." Cal lectured in his slick speech, pausing to lower his voice so only she could hear; "It is everything you need and want."

Rose despised when he did this. He knew; she was absolutely certain of it, that this life was definitely _not _what she needed and wanted. Cal was testing her, like he always did.

"Yes, well, it doesn't look any bigger than the Mauritania." Rose chastised, purely to change the subject. She hated herself for sounding so _upper-class. _

Cal scoffed. "You can be blasé about some things, Rose, but not about the Titanic! It's over a hundred feet longer than the Mauritania and far more luxurious."

Rose quietened. She wasn't in the correct mind, or of the desirable gender, to start an argument with Cal. Titanic _was_ grander, it was true, and yet to Rose it merely looked like a slave ship, mocking her openly whilst it waited to take her back to America in chains.

Rose walked at a slow pace as she boarded the ship, arranging her posture into an erect gracefulness that she'd been taught as soon as she could totter two steps. She fell shortly behind her mother, who was wearing one of her finest dresses. A floor length red and burgundy gown with shimmering stones, and of course, a matching headdress. Rose was careful not to step on the hem of her mother's gown as she continued on. After all, they wouldn't be affording any new ones until Rose herself had secured the family name and fortune with the act of marrying Cal. The thought of it made her insides scream in protest.

A short time afterwards, Titanic was setting sail. Rose was sat in her bland, colourless parlour as she heard the joyous sounds of the lower class yelling on deck. It was likely that the majority of them had never been on a ship before, let alone a ship as glorious as the Titanic. Rose wished she could rip the brass clips from her hair and join them, letting the cool wind unwind her curls. The only thing that prevented her from doing such a thing was her chains; her chains to Cal and the pressure of her mother's wishes and the inability, as a dependent woman, to free her-self. She longed to set out for the horizon whenever she felt like it, and the dreadful knowledge that she couldn't weighed upon her more than anything else.

The bells announcing lunch for the upper-class had rung over forty minutes ago, and the group had just reached their ostentatious table. It included Margaret Brown, also known as Molly, who was what Rose's mother so pretentiously referred to as 'New Money'. She hadn't been born into a good family's name, like the rest of the group, and in Rose's mother's eyes that made her far less important and frankly, not worth acknowledging. Cal, her mother and the Countess were also there, Rose noticed with distaste. Last but most certainly not least, the table also included the Irish man named Thomas Andrews, the builder of the ship, as well as Bruce Ismay, the man behind the idea. This made Rose's group the most important in the lunching room, and they were well extremely aware of it, as were the servers. Rose observed them bustling around to make sure everything was deemed perfect before they even thought about approaching the group.

"Rose, you know I don't like that." Rose winced as her mother's stern look reached her. She was seventeen years old; and still being treated as though she was filled with idiocy. Rose had had enough. She directed her face toward her mother's and calmly exhaled from the cigarette she'd been smoking.

Rose felt the brief satisfaction of seeing her mother's face twist in shock before Cal ruined it all. Reaching a pale, possessive hand over, he quickly removed the cigarette from its holder.

"She knows." His voice infiltrated, and it dawned on Rose what the rest of her life would be like. It was already set in stone, a never-ending stream of parties and dinners, being paraded around on Cal's arm like a trophy. She felt nauseous.

"We'll both have the lamb." Cal told the waiter who had just approached their anything-but-raucous table. "You do like lamb, don't you chickpea?" He turned to Rose.

As if it would matter whether she liked it or not, Cal spoke for her. Rose directed a sarcastic smile in his direction, which if he noticed, he simply ignored.

"You going to cut her meat for her too, Cal?" Margaret 'Molly' Brown laughed from across the table. Rose shot her a sincere, thankful smile. Here was a woman who understood.

Rose was furious. Anger and depression ebbed away at any source of self-control she might have had left. She heard Bruce Ismay and Thomas Andrews discussing the size of the Titanic, and interrupted before she could stop herself.

"Do you know of Dr Freud, Mr Ismay? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size may be of some interest to you." Rose resisted the urge to laugh at her own brazenness, failing to recognise the serious consequences of her statement.

An appreciative laugh came from the more so relaxed of the group, Molly Brown and Thomas Andrews included. Rose's mother looked on in undeniable, absolute fury.

"What has gotten _into _you?" She whispered sternly.

After some time, the strenuous effort of keeping conversation with her dismal group took its toll on Rose. She excused herself briskly and strolled out on deck for a breath of fresh air. Not many people could withstand their own company, but Rose was pleased to be one who could. She loved to be alone with her own thoughts, even if they did consume her. Being alone was better than being forced with the company of those she disliked.

As she thought, Rose felt eyes upon her. She didn't know how she knew, but she could feel the pull of them attracting her. It didn't take long to locate the source, a boy of maybe eighteen or nineteen was sat just below on the steerage deck, simply watching her. Rose felt herself redden at the amazement in his face, and forced herself to quickly return her gaze to the ocean ahead of her.

As though he were a magnet, Rose felt her gaze being drawn to him once more. He was still transfixed at the mere sight of her, so transfixed that he failed to notice one of the men around him wave an arm across his face. His gaze didn't even falter.

The boy was very handsome, for his age. He appeared to be older than Rose herself, but not with as old as Cal. This boy had glorious blonde hair, a soft, smooth face with no lines or creases of hardness. His face and stance were free, open to the world around him. Right now they were open to her. He was nothing but the exact opposite of her fiancée.

As though he'd been summoned, Cal appeared at her arm in the next instant, attempting to escort her back inside. Rose shook of his touch and stormed ahead of him, anything to be rid of his presence.

"Rose!" She heard him call behind her, but blanked him completely. Rose paused at the stairway to the lower deck, where the boy sat, still observing the scene above him with a strange look on his face. Was it pity, or understanding?

She let herself look upon the boy for one last second before she sauntered back into the dining room. Her group were still sat in the exact same positions when she re-entered, not even acknowledging her presence returning. She returned to her seat at the table and sat motionless, clad in her tight corset and bright yellow dress that Cal had told her to wear, with the ghost of alienation and loneliness in her eyes. On the outside, Rose was everything a well brought up girl should be; she was polite, endearing and well-spoken, most of the time. On the inside, she was screaming, and she resolved to end it that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack fell into a lying position on one of the rock-hard, uncomfortable benches on the deck intended for steerage passengers. A comfortable seat, he wasn't realising for the first time; was a luxury, a luxury that wasn't created with the intention of people like him.

It might sound as though he was complaining, but Jack didn't care one bit. A bench was a bench, after all. It was only there to serve its purpose, which right now was being a place where he could let his thoughts run wild, whilst inhaling a blissful cigarette.

His thoughts were mixed between how god damn lucky he and Fabrizio had been in that poker game and the Titanic itself. Jack had never been the best at bluffing; he tended to react to things emotionally, and that showed on his face. A week ago he'd been working with Fabrizio as a labourer, and now he was on the grandest ship in the entire world, albeit an uncomfortable bench.

Now and then, now specifically, Jack's thoughts would roam back to the redheaded girl he'd spotted on the decks above him earlier that day. She was obviously a 1st class passenger and as upper-class as they come, and the men had been correct when they'd stated that he'd never get close to her, but Jack wasn't one to accept defeat. He didn't have a cent to offer her, but he had himself, and that was all he had needed in life so far.

He'd known from the initial sight of her that she wasn't happy. Not even unhappy, but deeply melancholy. His acquaintances had always told Jack that his gift was that he understood people; and though he'd never given much thought to the odd compliment, he felt inclined to agree with them… though whether it was a gift, he couldn't say.

The unmistakable of heeled shoes click-clacking against the wooden decks roused him from his thoughts, and he sat erect just in time to see a figure flash past the bench where he lay in a blur. It was the woman from the deck, it had to be. Jack had never seen that beautiful copper coloured hair on anybody before. It was a perfect balance of orange and red, and it awakened by the sun.

Jack observed her as she climbed over the rail of the back of the boat, comprehending horror dawning on his features. His heart raced wildly, he didn't even know this stunning creature, but he knew that he couldn't lose her.

He approached slowly, he didn't want to shock her and see her fall, or even cause her to jump. He needed to play this carefully. Before he'd had a chance to think of a plan, the heel of his boot had made an audible sound against the deck about five feet behind her. He had no choice but to speak.

"Don't do it." He begged huskily. It was the first thing that came to his mind.

She turned her head quickly, eyes wide as an owl's. "Stay back, don't come any closer!"

Jack stopped in his tracks. She was upset and angry, and he could see the visible teardrops running down her cheeks in the moonlight.

"Take my hand; I'll pull you back in." He offered, raising his hand to aid her. She flinched at the sight of it, at the sight of him.

"No! Stay where you are, I mean it; I'll let go!" She threatened, turning her head back out to the vast ocean ahead of her.

Jack's breath was shaky and his heart was racing and the thought of losing her, but he made his voice sound steady and confident.

"No, you won't." He stated, hoping he was right about his presumption.

Her eyes flashed with anger as she turned to him once more. "What do you mean 'no I won't'? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me."

No, he didn't know her, but he sure as hell wanted to. Jack steadied himself. "You would have done it already." He shrugged, inhaling on his cigarette. She didn't respond, so Jack seized the opportunity. He was always one for doing _that. _"Come on, take my hand."

"You're distracting me, go away!" The angel cried. Jack felt his hope die a little, but he recomposed himself. He would not willingly stand here and let her throw her life away.

"I can't, I'm involved now." He began, removing his jacket from his shoulders. The chill of the air hit him like a thousand needles, and he wondered for the life of him how she was only wearing a thin, short-sleeved dress. He resisted the urge to give her his jacket.

She looked at him confusedly, eyes glazed by the continuous tears. "If you let go I'll have to jump in after you." Jack explained, nodding his head toward the ocean.

"Don't be absurd, you'd be killed!" She yelled, her attention focused on Jack's face.

"I'm a good swimmer." He murmured, bending to unlace his left shoe. He felt natural when he was being humorous, and who knew, maybe it would even help him.

"The fall alone would kill you." She stated, willing him to understand, to leave her alone.

He nodded vigorously. "It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't." A sudden gust of wind hit him, and he realised he needed to hurry this up. One huge breeze could knock her balance. "To be honest I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold."

He watched as she turned an anxious face to the ocean.

"How cold?" she asked, voice shaking with the reality of what she was doing.

"Freezing, maybe a couple of degrees over" he shrugged, this was not news to him, but he noticed that it must have been to her. Her eyes widened in sudden fear.

Jack took his shoes off loudly, to bring her attention back to what he was doing. "Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in there after you, but like I said; I don't have a choice. I guess I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here."

Her eyes blazed, but uncertainly. "You're crazy." She muttered, as though asking him.

Again, Jack decided that humour might just be his best bet. "That's what everybody says, but with all due respect ma'am, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here."

She simply watched him as he slid closer to her, hand extended. "Come on, you don't want to do this. Give me your hand."

The woman seemed to stare into his eyes for a very long time. Jack began to feel uncomfortable with the intensity of her gaze, but before he could react her right hand had met his left, their fingers interlocking firmly.

"I'm Jack Dawson." He introduced himself, feeling compelled to do so now that the danger had seemingly passed.

She raised her eyes to meet his. They were only a few centimetres apart.

"Rose Duwitt-Bukater." She whispered, her voice quavering.

Jack laughed heartily. "I'm gonna have to get you to write that one down."

Rose's face broke into a charming grin as she laughed carelessly. A beautiful name to match a beautiful woman, Jack thought.

Jack supported Rose as she began to climb back over the deck, not for-seeing the danger until it was too late. Before he could notice, Rose had stepped on the long hem of her maroon red dress, and she fell with a piercing shriek.

It was lucky Jack had had such a good grasp on her hand. He supported her with both hands, putting all his weight into saving her life. Now that she had decided to live, the height and the prospect of falling terrified her.

"Come on, you can do it, pull yourself up!" Jack encouraged, lifting her as best he could. He was strong from his labouring work, but he wasn't sure he could support her by himself for much longer. She needed to put her own weight into it.

"Help!" She screamed, and Jack watched as her body swung in the air, above the ice cold depths of the dark ocean. His face showed nothing but resolve.

"Hey, hey! I've got you, I won't let go." He stated, staring into her eyes. He willed her to believe him, to calm down and help herself.

She nodded, transfixed. "Pull yourself up!" He yelled again, and this time she obeyed. Together, Rose and Jack managed to land safely back on deck, though the loss of weight caused them to fall awkwardly on top of one another.

Jack exhaled in relief, his heart pounding in his chest. Rose was underneath him, in shock and trembling. From the cold or her fear, he wasn't sure.

He heard loud footsteps approaching behind him and rolled off Rose clumsily.

"Here, what's all this?" A crew member shouted, his eyes darting from Jack's pile of jacket and shoes to Rose's shocked state and ripped hemline of her dress. His face clearly showed the conclusions he was drawing.

Jack began shaking his head, about to speak, but the man continued; "fetch the master at arms!"

Jack attempted to explain himself while the other crew member, the dark-headed one that looked remarkably like a homeless man he'd seen in Paris went to fetch the master at arms, but to no avail.

"What's going on?" A deep voice boomed, and Jack raised his hopeless head to see two newcomers. Another dark-haired man with strong shoulders and a harsh face, mouth hanging open. He gathered that this was the man who had spoken.

He appeared to draw the same conclusions as the first crew member as Jack was forced into handcuffs from behind. They cut into his wrist uncomfortably.

"What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancée?" The harsh man yelled accusingly, looking Jack up and down as though he were a pile of filth. Of course, to him, he was.

Jack turned his gaze to Rose hopefully. Surely she'd take control of the situation?

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you filth!" The man bellowed, and distaste rose in Jack's throat. He had assumed that Rose was either married or engaged, since the rich married off as soon as they could talk.

"Cal!" Rose's voice shook, she was still in shock. "Cal! It was an accident!"

"An accident?" Cal gawped, as though he'd never heard the word.

Rose looked at a loss for an explanation for a moment before she recomposed herself. "It was stupid really, I was leaning over and I slipped."

She looked at Jack for a moment, but he kept quiet, realising without words that she didn't want anybody to know the truth of the incident.

"I was leaning far over to see the, ah, propellers. And I slipped and would have gone overboard, but Mr Dawson here saved me and almost went over himself."

Cal shook his head with exultance. "She wanted to see the propellers" he muttered to himself.

"Was that the way of it?" asked the master at arms. It took Jack a moment to realise the question was being directed at him.

He looked at Rose, who gave a slight nod. Her eyes were wide, begging him.

"Yeah, that was pretty much what happened." He murmured, still looking at Rose with a million questions in his eyes. He already felt bonded with the girl; he didn't keep secrets with just anybody, after all.

"The boy's a hero, then!" The master at arms exclaimed, unlocking his handcuffs.

Jack watched as Cal reached his arm around Rose's shoulders, warming her arms up with his hands. He felt unexplainably envious as he saw Cal murmur in her ear, but it quickly passed when he saw the unmistakable reaction of disgust at his proximity.

"A little something for the boy, perhaps?" the master at arms asked Cal, who had turned away to leave the deck with Rose in tail.

"Ah, a twenty should do it, Mr Lovejoy." He muttered, nodding to the large man beside him. Jack figured he was a servant of some kind.

Rose stopped in her tracks, offense written on her face. "Oh! Is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?"

Cal stared at Rose, shocked by her direct comment. He looked thoughtful.

He turned and approached Jack, a smug look dawning on his face. Jack realised that he was still trying to impress Rose, to win her over. There wasn't much point, Jack thought, whilst he looked at Rose's hopeless, yet perfect face. She thought she was destined for this life and this life alone.

"Mr, ah, Dawson" Cal nodded in false acknowledgement, "please join us for dinner tomorrow night, to regail our group with your heroic tale?"

Jack was still looking at Rose as he replied; "sure, count me in."

"That's sorted then." Cal muttered condescendingly, turning from Jack to leave the deck, Rose following reluctantly. She had more to say on the matter, and more to say to him, Jack realised without her having to even say so.

Maybe understanding people was Jack's gift, after all.


End file.
